Window
by Obi the Kid
Summary: At a stopover at Bobby's house, Sam fixates on his future. Season 6


**TITLE**: Window

**AUTHOR:** Obi the Kid

**RATING: **PG

**SUMMARY:** At a stopover at Bobby's house, Sam fixates on his future. (Season 6)

**DISCLAIMER:** The characters of Sam and Dean Winchester and the world of Supernatural do not belong to me, nor do I make any profit from this story. Any typos/errors are all mine!

* * *

"Better go out and see to your moping brother."

Bobby stood in front of Dean as the last piece of his Colt 1911 was cleaned and reassembled. A final click, the gun gathered whole and Dean looked up.

"What about him?"

"He's been staring out the window for an hour now. Quiet. Too quiet. Even for him."

"Not good."

"No. You know the thoughts that can run through that mind of his when he thinks too much."

"Yeah. Last time he thought too much, he came up with the idea for a head on collision with the Devil and a swan dive into Hell."

"Don't know if he can top that, but…"

Dean fitted the weapons into his bag and then held his hands up in a surrendering gesture. "I know. I know. I'll go see what's going on."

When Dean came down the steps into the living area of Bobby's house, he found his brother straddling a wooden kitchen chair in reverse position. His arms were propped up and crossed on the chair back and his chin rested there. His gaze and thought, lost somewhere outside the window.

Dean pulled up another chair into the same position as Sam's. "Planning another Olympic swan dive?"

Not surprised with the sudden company, Sam sighed and shook his head, his chin not moving from his crossed arms. "Bobby, huh?"

"Says you're too quiet."

"I probably am."

"And you admit to it? Definitely a problem."

"Sometimes quiet is good, Dean. Healthy."

"Overrated is more like it."

"For one who needs to be in constant motion like you, yeah. Anyway, I'm fine. You can go back to cleaning your guns."

"Finished. Cleaned yours too. You're welcome."

A smirk off one side of Sam's mouth was the only reaction. Dean took in the mood and the disposition of his brother. Oh yeah, something was wrong, although he figured he might have to dig and annoy to get any honest information.

"So, what's up in Sammy land?"

"Just thinking."

"Yes, I can see that. But what's really going on in that mind of yours? I don't want any surprises, Sam. No more, guess what Dean? I'm gonna jump into Hell tomorrow, good talk. Good night."

"It wasn't like that." Sam's tone stayed light with the comment, but the feeling behind it was much deeper. "I told you several days ahead of time."

"Oh, that made it okay then."

A small laugh and another deep sigh. Sam never moved his eyes from whatever he saw beyond the window and Dean allowed him his thoughts. Ironically enough though, it was Sam, not Dean, who eventually broke their bought of silence and the dark subject matter that followed, along with the abruptness with which Sam dove into it briefly baffled the older Winchester.

"You were scared before you went to Hell. You told me you were."

Dean stuttered his response at the unexpected comment. "Ah…uh…yes. What the…what field did you pull that out of?"

"Me too, before I said yes to Lucifer. More scared than anyone had a right to be. The demon blood helped some, but…not really."

"Okay, Sam, what the hell?"

By now, Dean had flipped his chair around and sat facing Sam – bemused and more than a tiny bit concerned. And Sam still remained solemn and kept his gaze outward – past the window.

There was an extended period when neither brother said a word, but Dean could feel Sam working towards something.

When Sam finally did speak, his hushed tone was grim. It was the words though – the sudden admittance – that slammed into Dean, immediately bringing back the despair and terror that he felt before his own trip to Hell.

Sam wasn't going to Hell again, but if the wall in his mind fell…

There were several more quiet minutes that passed, before Sam whispered open and honestly, "I'm scared, Dean."

Stomach dropped, eyes closed and Dean felt it all returning to the surface.

There was no need for Sam to admit what he was scared of. Dean knew, but Sam said it anyway, almost as if needing to finally tell someone. The only person he could tell.

"What happened to me and then my soul while it was trapped in Hell for 150 or so years – downtown-time. The things I did when I came back without my soul. When both those sets of memories come crashing in - and they will - when the wall falls…I don't know what'll happen. I just know it won't be good. I could be trapped in my own personal hell, stuck between these three versions of me. Maybe…maybe it'll be worse than Lucifer and Hell because I'll be here, topside, and those memories could devour what's left of the real me."

He paused to gather the rest of his fears and to drag in several unsteady breaths before his pain-filled words continued.

"You've been telling me all along, don't scratch the wall – how dangerous it is – how damaging. And I've been trying, Dean. I really have. But the reality is, it's just a matter of time, scratching or not…before it comes down. When, how, who knows, but it'll happen. And as much I want and need to know what I did, the end result of that…it scares the hell outta me."

He let the last words stand and continued looking out the window, unable to admit these things while facing his brother. To his credit, Dean didn't react immediately with a light-humored remark. Sam was as dead serious as he'd ever been, so he allowed the admission to sink in - the mind-numbing weight of it all – before he replied.

Briefly he got up, moved his chair a few inches closer to the other, turned it so he could sit the wrong way again and faced the window, staring out.

"You know I'll do everything I can to not let it happen, Sam."

"But it will. You know that as much as I do."

"Then I'll be there when it does."

"It could kill me."

"I know."

"It could make me full-time crazy."

"I know that too."

"What would you do, Dean, if I lost it completely?"

"Sam…"

"No, I'm serious."

"I'd find a way to bring you back to yourself. We've done the impossible before."

"This is different."

"You're not dying on me again, Sam. And you're not getting locked up in the loony bin, if that's what you're asking."

"You'd have to do something."

Dean glared across the few inches that separated them, again knowing exactly what his brother was thinking.

"Absolutely not!"

"Might have to."

"Stop it, Sam. I am not putting a bullet in your head."

"I can do it myself, Dean."

"You're not doing it either, especially if you're crazy."

"Dean…"

"Sam, no. Just no. We will find a way to beat whatever it is we end up facing. And we're not there yet, so no. Can't your friggin' mind ever think happy thoughts?"

Sam smiled at the last comment. It was so Dean. And although it didn't help his chase away his deep fear of the future, for whatever reason it did help for the moment and helped escort him out of the mood he was in. With a heavy exhale, he turned away from the window and towards his older brother.

"Happy, huh?"

"Yes, Sam. Happy. Remember happy?"

"Vaguely." A light of mischief crept into Sam's hazel-green eyes. "Didn't we have happy once when I was six?"

Dean pushed out of his chair, swatted his brother in the back of the head and walked into the kitchen. Sam followed, rubbing the spot that Dean had smacked.

"Here," a frying pan went flying into Sam's chest. "Your turn to cook. Bobby's gonna kick our asses if we don't start feeding ourselves. And no beans. I mean it. We've got a long drive tomorrow to Nevada. I have no desire to shut down my sense of smell the entire trip."

Sam set the pan on the stovetop. "Right. Beans it is."

"I don't think so. Move, damn it." With a shoulder shove Dean bullied his larger brother out of the way. "Go back to your window, Sam. Think happy thoughts. I'll throw something at you when the food's ready."

Sam nodded a celebratory grin, as he once again got out of playing chef. He walked back into the living area, established a leaning spot against the wall and found the place just on the other side of the window that had caught his eye before. The Impala sat quietly in that spot, holding his gaze as his thoughts tried to creep back into not so happy territory. And just as they threatened to go all the way there, Dean's voice from the kitchen pulled them back.

"Sammy."

"Yeah?" Sam said as he stood away from the window for a minute to spin himself back toward the kitchen.

"I mean it. If you do…you know…I _will_ find a way to get you back."

"Yeah, I know you will, Dean."

When Dean looked away and back at whatever creation he was concocting on the stove, Sam smiled to himself and went back to the window. Drops of rain bounced off the Impala's newly waxed coat making her shine despite the gray weather. As he watched, it dawned on him that it was the Impala that he'd been starring at each time he looked out the window. For what reason though, he couldn't say for certain. Could have been that it was just familiar, and when one is thinking about how not to lose their mind when the wall to Hell within that mind caves in, familiar is good. It caught his eye and kept his gaze as another familiar – his big brother Dean - hummed a Metallica song in the background.

Sam's small grin grew wide as Dean's humming got louder, the rain came harder and the Impala shrugged off each drop without effort. When Sam finally gave up the window, he found Dean at the kitchen table waiting for him.

"Food's been ready for like an hour."

Large hands cupped the nearest bowl. No sign of warmth.

"You said you'd throw something at me when dinner was ready."

Dean shrugged. "You were preoccupied."

"Sorry. You didn't have to wait for me."

"Whatever. But FYI, our next hotel room will so _not_ be having a window."

Early morning, first light, Sam woke from his sleeping spot on the floor to find the nearby couch empty. A glance to his left and he saw the reason why.

Dean sat quietly in a wooden chair, arms crossed and chin resting…gazing out the window.

* * *

The end.


End file.
